Never Ever Ever
Questioning the end is a fool's errand. Your voice evaporates into silence, but the ringing continues. It echos and reverberates far…
Poetry and Prose
Questioning the end is a fool's errand.
Your voice evaporates into silence, but the ringing continues.
It echos and reverberates far beyond your intention,
and when you least expect it, you hear it again.
I don’t claim to know the future, but I see patterns.
These shapes and signs, from all over my life,
reach and stretch out like roots of a tree — interconnected.
To what do I owe this surprise of darkness? The light.
To what do I owe this light? The darkness.
The cycle cannot end because it had no beginning.
It has always been, will always be,
and no one, thing, or passage of time will stop it.
If all this is true, then why do we hurt when it ends?
My thoughts are not new within the existence of human history.
I don’t write words which can’t be replicated, reproduced, and rerecorded.
So why, even after everything we read and speak and learn,
does the end still hurt?
I don’t have answers for these questions,
and if you’re looking for them at the end of this poem, you’ll be disappointed.
Much like our lives, this story will end unsatisfied, unfulfilled, and unrepentant.
Perhaps, though, it’s not the answer we seek, but the journey we crave.
Isn’t the point of exercising to exercise?
Isn’t the point of having fun to have fun?
What does it matter what game you played as long as you played?
My children know this. Adults forget.
We are alive now, today, and that’s what really matters.
You are a walking, talking, miracle of nature,
and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, never ever ever.